Wingbeat Rider
by Lysana
Summary: Sequel to Doug Niles' Watershed trilogy. The evil god Dassadec is dead. His people, the minions of Duloth-Trol, are left along with those of Faerine and Dalethica to pick up the pieces. And Lord Nicodareus is back! Rudy/Raine Takian/Bristyn Nicodareus/OC
1. Preface: My Really Long Author's Note

**Preface: My Really Long Author's Note**

I'm _not_ giving up on Reaper!  
-Lysana, Human Fangirl

* * *

_As the Watershed trilogy ends, Lord Minion Reaper is the last of his kind. Destroying him at this point would be genocide. And I don't accept genocide, even when it is purely fictional._

_Besides, I decided I like the chapter title "The Ambassador of Faerine", and the chapter that goes with it, much better than I like the one I rejected, "The Olde Magick", in which Reaper was to end up dying of his wound from Anjell's crossbow bolt._

_I hope you like this story, courtesy of me, my faith in Reaper, and my love of the minions. The Watershed, to me, is a world more beautiful than I think Doug Niles understood when he designed it, and that includes all three of its lands - Dalethica, Faerine, __and__ Duloth-Trol. _

It was three years ago that I wrote those paragraphs. Everything in them is still true, but my story has gotten bigger since then. For one thing, it's ended up being combined with another fic idea I thought of much more recently - two fics have become one! And now, Lord Minion Nicodareus will be coming back too!

My sister Razzle thought of that idea before I did. In this instance, I'm the tag-along in the pair of siblings! :) Seriously, her fic "Lord of Three Waters" is amazing. If you're reading this then you should totally read that too.

With Nicodareus' return in my story, the question of genocide no longer applies to Lord Reaper. But I find that I love Reaper so much that I can't stand the idea of killing him off after all. So they're BOTH in this fic! :)

A word about what I call "chapter quotes": You'll notice that there's a quote at the beginning of each chapter in this fic. That's because the canon Watershed books had them and I'm following that style with my fic. Anyway the quotes in my fanfic are all written by me (except when Razzle's thought of one and let me use it, etc). But the books and things they're credited to (Creed of the Climber, etc) are for the most part from canon. I've made up a few, though.

-WARNING!- This fanfic deals with the concept of rape. But there is NO sexually graphic content in the fic. Instead, one of my central characters is someone who was stated to have been raped in the canon trilogy itself. The books did not go into much detail, but it seemed overwhelmingly likely to me that there were many assailants, probably of both genders. Horrifying, I know! So, part of my story involves my best effort as a writer to show that character's pain - and recovery. That said:

This fanfic is dedicated to everyone who has ever been the victim of a violent crime, especially rape or sexual abuse. All of you have my deepest sympathy and my greatest respect; I know that every one of you has the strength to truly live as a survivor!

And please, if anyone reading this fic is in an abusive situation right now: Get HELP and get OUT! There is no excuse for anyone to treat you that way, EVER.

To all of my readers who are fortunate enough never to have experienced abuse or violence, please reach out a hand in friendship and support to anyone you may meet who has to face those things.


	2. Chapter 1: Loyalty Stronger Than Death

Summary: Sequel to Doug Niles' Watershed trilogy. The evil god Dassadec is dead. His people, the minions of Duloth-Trol, are left along with those of Faerine and Dalethica to pick up the pieces. And Lord Nicodareus is back! Rudy/Raine Takian/Bristyn Nicodareus/OC

**Wingbeat Rider**

**Chapter 1: Loyalty Stronger Than Death**

A good leader is the most vital element in any ascent: for not only will he give his all to safeguard his climbers, but every one of them will be devoted to making the expedition a success for his sake.  
-Creed of the Climber

* * *

_In a chamber beneath the vast dark mountain called Agath-Trol, many hundreds of silent black figures were gathering. It was an understanding without words that brought them here. Tall snake-headed stalkers, the brutox with their sharp horns and hearts of electric fire, mighty flying terrions, and the numerous resilient little kroaks; all of them drawn to this cave by the bond they shared with each other and with the master who had trained and led them for thousands of years._

_Now, these children of the evil god Dassadec stood beside a deep black pool of their god's Darkblood. This powerfully magical liquid ran in the rivers and streams of their land the way water did in the human realm of Dalethica, or glittering bright Aura in sunlit Faerine. But here in the heart of Dassadec's mountain fortress, the gathered pools of Darkblood held an even more awesome and sinister power. Even though Dassadec had been vanquished and driven away, his minions could still feel that deep power surging in the Darkblood pool beside them._

_Beneath the surface of that pool, they knew, were the remains of their own lord. One of the six great Lord Minions created by Dassadec in very ancient times, Lord Nicodareus had been torn apart days earlier in a last attempt to defend the dark god from his enemies._

_But for the minions of Nicodareus' army, there was one burning piece of knowledge that united them all, that had driven them to gather in this lightless cave. Lord Nicodareus had died once before also, and had been brought back to life in a ritual commanded by Dassadec._

_Could it happen again?_

* * *

"We must bring him back." Stifle looked around at the other elite minions. There was no disagreement. They all loved their dead lord as a friend, even though they also stood in awe and terror of him.

"Of course we must," a gnarled brutox named Rager answered, stepping close to the tall, sinuous stalker who had first spoken. "But do any of us know the way?"

"I do," Stifle said calmly. "I understand many rituals. This one, like most, requires a sacrifice of energy and life."

One of the kroaks, a small but quick and deadly female called Ragtag, scurried timidly forward. "Let me do it," she said, looking up at the commanding figures of stalker and brutox who stood well above her height. "Let my life bring our Lord Nicodareus back to us."

"No!" Stifle said forcefully, almost shouting. "This sacrifice will not be made by any one of us alone. He would grieve. Even though he has ordered many of us to our destruction before, he would still grieve even one death."

There was a general low murmur of understanding. Alone among the great ones, Lord Nicodareus had always treated them as _people_. He spoke to them as though they could think and feel.

"We will perform the ritual a different way," Stifle told them all. He spoke quietly again now, but still with authority. In the absence of Nicodareus, he often took the role of a leader. "We will all provide a portion of the life that is needed to revive our lord. All of us will be weakened for a while, but none will die."

* * *

The first thing Nicodareus knew was a sudden fear. His punishment after his last great failure had crushed his soul, and he knew that this latest failure was even more terrible. Finding himself brought back to life a second time, he wondered what could possibly await him now.

Boldly he tried to banish those feelings, but the pain and raw shame of those memories reached all the way to the depths of his heart. As his newly restored body lay quietly on the ground, with his wings curled achingly tight around him, the mighty Lord Minion felt himself shaking.

_Enough,_ he told himself. He pulled back his wings enough to free his crossed arms, reached out to put his palms against the stone, and pushed himself up. Fearing to be cast back down to the floor at any second, he stood.

Hundreds of minions stood in rows before him, and for a moment the sight filled him with even greater terror. Was it to be the same punishment again?

Then, as he focused on individual faces, he realized that these were not lowly, deformed, rejected kroaks like the ones he had been forced to grovel to before. These were _his_ minions, his elite army. His servants, but also his friends.

He felt an instant's relief, followed by a spike of pure horror. "Master?" he beseeched, desperately raising his eyes and hands to the darkness above. "Surely you would not send _these_ against me? I beg you, no!"

There was no reply from his god. Instead, Nicodareus heard a voice speaking in front of him, coming from barely the height of his own chest. Immediately he knew the voice of Stifle, the stalker who was his chief general.

"Our master is gone, Lord Nicodareus," Stifle said. "Dead, or simply driven from our world, we do not know."

Nicodareus let his hands drop and looked down at his second-in-command. "The Iceman destroyed him," he said, his eyes flaring dark red with hate. "When I did not stop him, he must have reached the Heart of Darkblood." He paused only long enough for a breath, his mind quickly considering all of this. "Where is the Iceman now? And what of Reaper?"

Stifle's eyes narrowed slightly. Nicodareus, who had known him for thousands of years, recognized the expression as serious thought combined with a bit of frustration.

"The Iceman and the woman left just after killing the Heart," the stalker said. "Lord Reaper gave chase, but he was injured by a spell of theirs and returned here. I believe he has mostly healed in the weeks since, but he has done little and given no commands that I know of. Mostly he seems absorbed in his own thoughts."

Nicodareus was about to ask more questions when he saw Stifle falter, swaying in place and almost losing his balance. "Stifle! Are you injured?" the Lord Minion asked in concern.

Stifle hissed a quick, wordless denial, steadying himself on his feet again with his serpent's tail stretched out for balance behind him. As Nicodareus looked around, he saw that all of his people were looking similarly worn and uncertain in their strength.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

"It is the ritual," Stifle explained, his face stiff with weariness. "When the Sleepstealer brought you back before, he sacrificed the life of a single brutox to revive you from death. This time, we have all given some of the power of our lives to restore you."

It was obvious from the way Stifle spoke that no one had commanded them to do this. But even knowing the depth of his people's loyalty to him, Nicodareus could not help feeling just a little surprised. "You chose to bring me back, on your own," he said, speaking to his entire army. "But will you be all right? And why would you make such a sacrifice without being told to?"

"Do not worry, Lord," Stifle said. "We have been recovering, though slowly. But it would have been worth it to us even if this weakness had been permanent." Beside him, the little kroak named Ragtag nodded, looking up at her much taller lord with bright admiration shining in her eyes.

"Lord, we would never allow harm to come to you while we have a choice." Rager the brutox spoke with solid assurance, sparks falling from the tips of his curved horns. Nicodareus understood that something more was behind that vow, for Rager and for all the rest of his army too: a painful dismay at the disgrace into which their lord had recently fallen. It was not pity that they felt, but a deep, proud loyalty. Their reverence for him had not lessened or changed, in spite of everything.

After the disgrace and shame that had ruled so much of his recent life, Nicodareus felt the devotion of his subjects and friends going a very long way towards healing the awful wounds of humiliation in his heart.

* * *

Lord Reaper, a vast black serpent-dragon, looped the coils of his long body luxuriantly up and out of his warm Immersion pool. The Darkblood in which he had been resting clung to his scales and wings, leaving a soft, oily coating of power and protection. Reaper smiled, enjoying the sensation.

Despite the annoyance of his slow-healing wound, Reaper was feeling magnificently free. Dassadec was gone! He remembered a time when he had dared to hope for near-equality with his old master, but this was infinitely better. Now he was not only master of this powerful realm, but - far more exhilaratingly wonderful - he was actually master of _himself._

He was pleased to note that Immersion in Darkblood was still as revitalizing as ever. Apparently Dassadec's presence was not necessary for this part of his magic to be felt, and that fact suited Reaper very well.

Of course, as usual, this Immersion had done nothing for the aggravating pain that ran through the shallow, blistered gash along his left side. Scowling, Reaper curled his flexible neck around to look at the injury. The wound was healing itself, but even after nearly two and a half months, it was still ugly and painful. Small, black scales at the edges of the burn were curled and brittle, scorched to a duller shade of black than Reaper's usual gleaming color. The wound itself had faded from a raw burn to a vicious gray-black; but it would be some time before scales grew there again.

That flaming bolt from the Iceman's sailing ship coud only have been a spell of Faerine's Olde Magic, Reaper knew. The sizzling strike, powerful enough to injure even a Lord Minion, had barely missed his left wing. As much as anything, Reaper had to admit, it had been the shock and fright of that realization that had made him decide to abandon the chase.

Besides, he had been eager to return to his own new castle - Agath-Trol, the mountain palace where he had been a slave, however mighty, for his entire life so far.

Reaper well remembered Dassadec's cruelty to him that reached all the way back to the first hour of his life. And recently, however enjoyable it had been to try and imagine what kinds of pain and shame Dassadec might be inflicting on his peer Nicodareus, Reaper had also been feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He had been forced to realize that he, Reaper, could be subjected to the same grinding oppression if he were to fall into disfavor. The idea terrified him immensely and infuriated him more.

So when the opportunity had arisen, totally unlooked-for, to let that pair of humans actually banish Dassadec from the world, Reaper had jumped to seize it. And how important was it really, he mused with a slow, lazy smile, to pursue vengeance against the ones who had helped him, whatever their own motives, to claim his freedom?

_Not at all important,_ Reaper thought in satisfaction.

Now, the great dragon padded softly on his mighty taloned feet - he _was_ called the Talon, after all! - out through the arched doorway of his own chambers and along the curving passageways that led to the throne room.

_His_ throne room.

He reached the great plaza and flew triumphantly up toward his lofty throne. Sailing in a smooth arc, he crossed right over the top of the deep black Bloodpool that filled the center of this massive cave. At the very top of his pillar he stopped, folding his enormous wings neatly and settling himself in supreme comfort on his throne.

The pain of Reaper's wound was completely forgotten for the moment. His heart soared at the knowledge that he was no longer a Lord Minion. He curled up on his throne, utterly content - Lord Reaper of Duloth-Trol.

Just as he was settling in for a long, satisfying reverie, he caught sight of a flicker of motion at one of the plaza's other entrances. Narrowing his eyes, he focused his sharp predatory vision on it. Reaper did not have the magical Sight of his brother Nicodareus, who had been able to see across hundreds of miles with the sheer power of that gift, but the Talon could still match and even exceed the visual sharpness of any ordinary eagle from the human realm.

_Well, now,_ Reaper thought, as the arriving figure came into focus.

It was Nicodareus himself who arrowed into the throne room like a hunting terrion, his black wings whirling behind his equally black, ten-foot-tall manlike body. As swift as Reaper had ever seen him, the Eye of Dassadec swooped along toward the platform where the three mighty thrones stood.

Nicodareus flew low to the ground, skimming across the Bloodpool and barely a wing's breadth above the stone, then climbed steeply just before he reached the raised dais. He flew nearly straight upward in front of Reaper's throne, then stopped, hovering just in front of Reaper's crocodilian face. His own features were twisted in a snarl of rage and disbelief.

* * *

Furious, Nicodareus faced down his smugly contented brother. "Reaper! What are you doing? You cannot rule just by sitting on a throne. You must _lead_ our people, or else move aside and allow me to do so!"

Reaper grinned lazily, showing long rows of teeth. "How interesting to see you, Nicodareus. I seem to remember you dying."

"I seem to remember you doing nothing!" Nicodareus replied angrily. "Where were you when our master was in danger?"

"Where was I?" Reaper's wings rustled above his coiled reptilian body. "I was lying stretched out against the wall, watching the whole time, and laughing to myself. Why should I protect my own slavery? Better to let him die, and my bonds along with him. But _you_, even after your punishment and humiliation," Reaper offered a sidelong smile that made Nicodareus' blood churn, "still fought to keep him alive! Were you eager to be punished again? Or did you imagine that he might reward you if you saved him?"

Nicodareus felt hot indignation and disbelief rising up in his heart. "Neither!" he said incredulously. "He was our master and our creator. I owe _everything_ to Dassadec - life, thought, the joy of flight, every joy I have ever felt. So do you! How could you turn aside when he needed our help? Together you and I might have defeated that cursed Iceman and his companion!"

"You're hopeless." Reaper yawned. "Go away, Nicodareus. Order the minions to march back and forth if you like. I don't care. It's as fit a way as I can think of for you to occupy your time."

Quick as a stormship's lightning, Nicodareus slashed the claws of his right hand across Reaper's grinning face. "You forget," he said in a low voice. "Because of you, I no longer stand in dishonor. Dassadec is gone. And besides that, our sister and brothers are dead, even Phalthak now. You and I are left as the two, _equal_ rulers of Duloth-Trol."

Reaper gave Nicodareus a considering look out of affronted yellow eyes. "I could kill you," he said finally. "But I won't. You are right about one thing, at least. Too many of us are dead."

* * *

Nicodareus paced in through the entrance to his chambers, feeling unsettled. He was still very shaken by finding himself alive again; and not only alive, but not facing any penalty for his most monstrous of failures. He had actually let Dassadec be killed!

He remembered facing the Iceman, Rudy Appenfell, in another black cave beneath this same vast mountain of Agath-Trol. The woman Raine had been there too: a lesser threat, but still infuriating. Nicodareus had been certain that finally, after all the agony they had brought him, all the battles he had fought - and the friends he had seen die - in his growing quest to defeat these two humans, he would be able to destroy them now.

Instead, as he stood poised for the final leap, he had felt the awful twisting, yanking sensation of something closing rocklike hands on his wings from behind and pulling him back. An instant later there had been a crunching pain in his chest. He knew he had screamed aloud in his pain and shock, but when he tried to breathe in again, he could not. There was nothing there to breathe with; the crushing, impaling strike had destroyed his entire ribcage and his lungs with it.

In his last seconds of life, his Sight had activated itself in a dying reflex. Looking behind him, not with his eyes but with the magical power of his mind, he had seen just what it was that killed him. The grim, unforgiving face was that of a High Guardian, one of the same race of creatures of living stone that had killed his brother Karthakan and sister Balzaracc a thousand years before. And beneath it like a steed was a Deep Guardian, ancient and terrible - the same insect-like creature that Nicodareus had found sleeping in a forgotten cave weeks earlier and had enslaved to assist him in carrying out Dassadec's will.

Nicodareus had submerged the Deep Guardian in Darkblood when his need of it was over, and he had been certain that it had died. But instead, it had reappeared and joined forces with its stony cousin to destroy him at his very moment of victory. It was the Deep Guardian's horn that had stabbed him; tapering quickly from a broad base to a point, that was what had crushed its way through his chest with killing violence.

Shaking his head sharply, Nicodareus brought his mind back from his memory of his death to the present. He had not expected to relive that just now.

Instead, he looked around at the gracefully curved walls and ceiling of this comparatively small but clean-sculpted and majestic cave. It was the first room in the comfortably familiar area of Agath-Trol that was his very own home. Farther along, one of the quiet caverns held the round, deep pool where he would go to Immerse himself in the Darkblood of his master. As a Lord Minion, Nicodareus needed neither food nor sleep in most situations. The restoring power that flooded through his body and soul during an Immersion was all the nourishment and rest he needed.

There were no furnishings in his chambers. He would have no use for any. Rather, the very stone itself seemed to radiate a feeling of comfort, safety, and satisfaction, after all the years he had lived there. The life of Nicodareus stretched back some thirteen thousand years, and almost since the beginning of that time this had been his home.

In a bit of surprise, he realized that he had stepped foot into this place only one other time since the day he had left Agath-Trol, many months ago, wielding the violent power of Darkslayer to travel across Dalethica in search of his enemy, the Iceman - who was also called the Man of Three Waters for his all-but-unique ability to survive easily in all three realms of the Watershed. The woman called Raine was the only other being in the world with that power.

The Lord Minion had not returned alive from that journey; the trap that Rudy Appenfell had set for him had been the first of the two deaths from which Nicodareus had now been brought back. That time, of course, it had been Dassadec who had chosen to return his son to life.

After his revival - and punishment, he thought, flinching inside at the quick, hideous flash of memory - he had been surprised by the added crushing grief and seething rage of seeing his brother Phalthak killed by that same wretched Iceman. The death had happened far away, in Faerine; Nicodareus had witnessed it from here by the use of his Sight.

Dassadec, however furious he had been at Phalthak's destruction, had permitted Nicodareus to seek the refuge of his own chambers and a desperately-needed Immersion. The demon-winged Lord Minion had stepped into that Immersion feeling as drained and awful as he ever had. But it had been no refuge for his mind; conscious the whole time as always, he had been trapped in the agony and searing, ugly shame of the punishment that Dassadec had just meted out to him. And worst of all, his soul had been gripped at every second by the certain knowledge that he had fully deserved every horrifying moment.

Still, after he arose from his Immersion he had felt much stronger and cleaner. He had dared to hope that his time of humiliation might be over; but Dassadec had made it clear that he was still a disgrace and a failure. 'My worthless son,' his father had said to him, and ordered him to use his own hands and teeth to dig a labyrinth beneath the mountain so that the Iceman and his woman might not find their way to Dassadec's vulnerable Heart of Darkblood alive. That was the task in which Nicodareus had enlisted the forced labor of the Deep Guardian who had later returned to kill him.

And that endeavor, too, had failed. Dassadec was gone, and now Nicodareus and his brother Reaper were faced with the task of leading Duloth-Trol in the wake of their god's defeat. Both Lord Minions, of course, were expert in the art of command and rulership. Still, Nicodareus found the situation daunting and dismaying. More than ever, he felt the need to hear his master's commands.

_Is it possible?_ he thought suddenly. Dassadec was a god, after all. Maybe his voice could still reach all the way back to his children, even now that he had left the world.

"Master? Are you still there?" Nicodareus spoke hesitantly, looking up into the darkness with both his eyes and his Sight. But whatever was beyond the ordinary sky of the Watershed's world, not even the Eye of Dassadec could see that far.

"My lord, I know that you must be furious with me. You are more than right to be."

Nicodareus almost felt certain that he was about to hear the god reply in his ominous silent voice. But the Sleepstealer said nothing, or Nicodareus could not hear what he said.

_This is what praying is like for the people of the other two realms,_ the Lord Minion realized. He had to believe that Dassadec could hear him.

The Lord Minion fell to his knees, then threw himself facedown onto the ground, wracked by guilt and the humiliation of knowing that he had failed so massively. With his face against the floor, he spoke to his god again.

"I deserve more punishment, but you are not here to give it to me." He recalled the terrifying pain he had felt so many times at his god's will, the torture that did not wound his body but flooded every nerve with incredible sizzling agony. He could not force his mind to openly consider the idea of a worse punishment. But he cringed inside as the deepest part of his heart kept on telling him that he would surely deserve that too.

_Of course I deserve it,_ Nicodareus thought. _I deserve all the punishment his vengeful imagination could ever possibly devise. I am his child, and I should have served him unfailingly and protected him when he was in jeopardy! Instead, I let him __die__!_

Lying crushed against the floor, pressing himself down as hard as he could, Nicodareus voiced the name he had always known for Dassadec but had never presumed to utter. "Father -"

Shame and guilt flooded through him. _I am not fit to call him that!_ he thought. _Why did I dare?_ Anguished, he spoke again. "I am so sorry that I failed you, my lord. You were right to call me your worthless son. If I were not, you would still be alive."

Nicodareus stood up. The lack of pain in his body felt piercingly wrong.

"I failed you. Now I must make certain that I do not fail your memory."

* * *

Back in the throne room, Lord Nicodareus deliberately climbed the winding stairs leading up to his own throne. He knew that it might have been a long time before Dassadec would have allowed him to sit here again, but now that Dassadec was gone, Nicodareus could not afford to wait for an absolution that his god would never be able to provide. It was imperative that he demonstrate and exercise his own power, _now_.

He took his seat, giving a long and steady look to Reaper who sat atop his adjacent pillar. To Nicodareus' other side was Phalthak's throne, conspicuously empty after its owner's destruction. In front of the three high thrones, at the center of the great plaza, the silent black Bloodpool was just as empty of Dassadec's awe-inspiring presence.

"We cannot tolerate a defeat like this!" Nicodareus told his brother. He had decided that it would be essential to enlist Reaper's full enthusiasm and commitment if they were to wrest a victory from this disastrous situation. Now he spoke with all the passion of his heart and soul.

"Reaper, the armies of Duloth-Trol are scattered without leadership across the other two realms. Our god is _dead!_ The war of conquest has become a rout. And the two wretched, impertinent _humans_ who struck the most devastating blow against our land have sailed away to congratulate themselves! We cannot just wait to find out what our enemies will do next. It is time to take action! You must stand beside me, Reaper. We will go and destroy them." Nicodareus felt his wings opening with a snap to their full thirty-foot width. He knew that his eyes were burning with the fierce fires of hatred and battle-fury as he thought of his enemies.

Curled up on his nearby throne, Reaper did not appear to share the same feelings. He seemed more quietly amused than anything else. "You acted like this a thousand years ago, in the last battle of the Four Century War," Reaper pointed out. "You almost died then, you know. But I suppose this is an improvement! At least you're talking this time instead of just charging forward."

Nicodareus stared at him in rampant, offended disbelief. "We are not standing on a battlefield," he said sensibly. "Why would I charge forward across the throne room? But we still have to _do_ something! The Iceman and his wench got away after killing Dassadec and making fools of us all. We must go after them and take vengeance!"

Reaper laughed, tilting his head to the side and grinning. Then he went deadly serious in the flicker of an instant.

"Look at this!" he said, his voice hissing urgently. With his long jaws, he indicated a vicious half-healed wound along the left side of his body. It looked like it had been gouged by fire. Seeing it, Nicodareus could almost feel the pain of Reaper's injury in his own skin and flesh.

"Even wounds inflicted by Guardians would heal sooner," Reaper said flatly. "This is the Olde Magic. I know you can recognize it as well as I do. We were both at the battles in Faerine during the Four Century War! The Iceman and his allies command that power now. We cannot attack them recklessly!"

"Yes..." Nicodareus said, wishing that Reaper's words were not so sensible. "It's true."

"We must move slowly." Reaper's reply was measured, steady, but also forceful. "Nicodareus, I am not saying that we should do nothing. Let us _plan!_ You can use your Sight to tell us much of what we need to know about the movements of our enemies. And perhaps there are ways that we can learn even more."

* * *

The conversation with Reaper had gone well, Nicodareus thought as he walked along the route toward one of Agath-Trol's ground level exits. It was definitely much better to have a plan! The two lords would indeed be moving slowly, but they were in agreement that they would not be abandoning this war. One key thing they had decided was that the people of Dalethica and Faerine would not yet be allowed to know that Nicodareus was alive again. With his survival a secret, he would be free to work undercover. And why not let their enemies underestimate their strength for now?

A slight change in the quality of light told Nicodareus that he was nearing the arched doorway leading out of Agath-Trol. He quickened his steps, turning a few corners one after the other, and soon reached the door. Intent on his immediate mission, he stepped through and into the open rocky landscape outside. It was the first time he had left Agath-Trol since Dassadec had brought him back to life many weeks ago.

Nicodareus looked up, and the sky spread out in front of him in an endless depth of promise. An expression of fierce joy broke across his face. Crouching and springing in one quick, unconsciously graceful movement, the Eye propelled himself up at a steep angle into the stormy air.

His heart soared faster than his wings could lift him. He had not realized how much it had weighed on him to be cut off from the sky. Now he was back, and he felt more alive than he had in a long time.

The joyous exhilaration of his soul was so complete that he could not help but imagine his dearest friend Slasher, most powerful of terrions, flying beside him. Since his hatching more than seven thousand years earlier, Slasher had been very close to Nicodareus. Despite their vast differences in power and rank, the two had become devoted friends.

Even knowing it was impossible, Nicodareus actually looked to the side to see the friend he knew wouldn't be there. Of course, there was nothing but a wrenchingly open patch of sky. But he could still almost see his terrion friend as if the minion were still alive.

The same mind that held his power of Sight also gifted him with a perfect, clear memory. Now he remembered not only the life but the cruel death of the creature who had been his loyal companion for longer than most mortal beings could readily imagine. Slasher had valiantly given his life, fighting alongside Nicodareus in one of the first battles against the Man of Three Waters.

A wave of fresh grief for his friend swept through him. Unlike a Lord Minion, he knew, a dead terrion could not come back.

* * *

Author's Note: Like my fic so far? You could totally make my day with a review! And you could make my day even more by posting a Watershed fanfic of your own! I promise I'll review every one that's ever posted in this setting, until it gets so popular that I can't. Won't that be the day! I look forward to it. :D


	3. Chapter 2: Birth of the Lord Minions

**Chapter 2: Birth of the Lord Minions**

For those who possess the magic of Auramastery, the Scrying Pool allows them to see far and wide across the three Realms of the Watershed. But to a lucky few, blessed with unknown magic, that same pool grants the ability to see across time and even, on a handful of privileged occasions, into the hearts of other beings.  
-Wysteerin Hallowayn, Sylvan Bard

* * *

_As the other gods flew away into the heavens, Dassadec allowed his beating Heart of Darkblood to tie him down. Power surged and raced through his vast dark being, tearing and buffeting at his connection to the world._

_But this had also been part of his plan. The god channeled that power upward towards the summit of his mountain, focusing it ever tighter in the direction it seemed determined to pull Dassadec himself. With a force of concentration deeper and more powerful than that of any sorcerer, he resisted that pull and wove the twisting, lashing ropes of magic into a spell subject to his own will._

_On six great hill-sized stones around the vast, open crater of Agath-Trol's summit, the magic took form under Dassadec's sinister artistic will. Swirling clouds of black power writhed and twisted, settling closely to the flat tops of those massive stones. Condensing from the vapor of smoke to an intense solidity like that of the mountain, the six clouds of magic revealed their ultimate forms as six awesome beings._

_The eyes of the six Lord Minions opened in the same instant, glowing orbs of pure red hellfire shot through with streaks of fierce, incandescent gold. Three of the beings spread massive new wings; all of them looked around with expressions of innocent wonder on their newly-awakened faces._

_But the concept of innocence was of little concern to their creator. Dassadec allowed his attention to focus on each of his mighty new slaves in turn. He had designed each of them in his mind long since, of course, but he was still very pleased at what he saw now that they had come into being._

_The Fist of Dassadec, a great reptilian monster with a goat's head and a stiff, round fin like a single wing jutting straight up from his back, would bear the name of Lord Darkenscale. His black-green scales glinted even in the dim light under the roiling clouds, and the fur and long beard of his fierce head were a deceptively soft gray. His eyes, deep and considering, seemed to look inward as much as out to the view around him._

_Dassadec's massive Talon, Lord Minion Reaper, was a great sinuous dragon like a long black snake with vast leathery wings. Unlike a snake, he stood on four powerful legs that ended in keen-clawed feet like an eagle's. Unconscious arrogance was in the curve of his mighty neck, and his crocodile face smiled in pleased satisfaction as he looked around at his peers and at the world._

_Lord Nicodareus, massing far less than his two reptilian brothers, still stood with every bit of the same confidence and power. Wings spanning fully three times his height stretched out behind his imposing demon-form, fully black from the horns atop his head to his powerful feet. Dassadec thought that he had done particularly well in the creation of this servant. This one would be called the Eye of Dassadec, with magical Sight that could travel to the farthest corners of the Watershed. But for now, he seemed awestruck enough by the mere ordinary vision of what lay around him. Fierce passion and emotion stared out from his blazing eyes._

_Commanding the form of a massive bear, his fur contrasting in smooth ripples between lightest and darkest brown, Lord Karthakan was the Flame of Dassadec. He would control seething powers of fire, blasting to ruin anything that opposed him. Indeed, his entire soul seemed to be filled with the same fire that burned in all six Lord Minions' eyes. He growled in his throat, looking around with a near-visible feeling of eager anticipation that beat outward from him like the heat of his fires._

_Lady Balzaracc was a creature whose being contrasted one fierce beauty against another. From the shoulders down she was like her brother Nicodareus but in female form; tall, black, and sleekly muscular. Wings of brown hawk's feathers and tawny gold fur rustled behind her shoulders. Atop those shoulders perched the ferocious tawny head of a lioness, with teeth that could easily rip and kill. But rising from the top of that fur-covered skull was the head of a lovely woman, her skin rosy and pale. An expression of sweet gentleness shone out from that face, and even the burning eyes looked softer and more warmly open than the orbs of her lion-face. Framing her woman's head was a cloud of soft, thick hair that shaded from the palest brown parts of Karthakan's fur to a dusky black where it swirled past her knees. The Wing of Dassadec, it would be her task to fly far and wide across the Watershed, exerting her deadly trickery and paralyzing beauty against many of Dassadec's enemies. Countless Faerines and humans would die, the dark god knew, admiring her slender form or captured by the gaze of her fierce red-gold eyes._

_Finally, Dassadec turned his attention to his nightmare Fang. Lord Phalthak also possessed more than one head, six deadly serpent-faces in bold jewel colors rising on long snake necks from the body of a massive gray-white ape. The place where those necks emerged from his body was a cruel, ripped wound that oozed a slow trickle of Phalthak's Darkblood. Dassadec was pleased by this; he could, of course, have created a smooth joining like those of his other Lord Minions whose bodies combined multiple forms, but this arrangement appealed to his innate cruelty. Besides, it would provide him with an easy means of bestowing on his Fang the additional serpent heads that would be needed in the future. Now, hissing and twining their necks around each other, Phalthak's six young faces all craned to see as much of the world as they could in every direction._

_Yes, the Sleepstealer thought, the Lord Minions had been a very successful creation. _Welcome, my children._ Dassadec's voice was a silent rumble of power, spoken directly to the minds of his slaves._

_As one, the Lord Minions fell to the ground on their faces. They recognized the voice of their lord without being told. "Master!" they cried together. "Tell us your commands, and we will obey!"_

Your obedience pleases me,_ the dark god replied._ I will have many commands for you. But you must know that there is a cost if you should ever fail in serving me.

_Shocked, Nicodareus looked up. His demon face was the picture of commitment and faith, barely seeming to register the concept that Dassadec's words had been a threat. "Master, we would not -" But the winged lord never finished speaking his assurance of loyalty._

Here is the cost,_ Dassadec told them in a voice gone harsh and cruel as the bitter stone far beneath his mountain fortress. _Learn it well.

_Dassadec sent a black wave of pain crashing outward to envelop the spirits of his Lord Minions. Their bodies were not harmed, of course - why destroy what he had just created? - but he knew that they all suffered agony like a person consumed by fire or acid._

_A feeling of surprise and stunned dismay struck Dassadec from all their minds. Having lived for such a short time, they could not possibly have imagined a torture like this. Of course, even this detail had also been part of the Sleepstealer's plan. He smiled to himself in the depths of his cruel heart. The total unexpectedness of this agony, one of their first memories, would leave a very useful scar on their hearts._

_Already lying flat on the tops of their great stone perches, their bodies twisted and then clenched in searing anguish. The six great beings did not cry out in their pain. They had not been made in a way that would allow them to easily protest against any action of their master. But the harsh angles of their locked, frozen bodies showed their suffering._

_Dassadec watched them for a time in satisfaction, reflecting with pleasure on the power he held over even these mighty creatures. But after only a few moments he released them from their agony. The impression it made on them would be deeper, he knew, if the duration were not very long._

_The Sleepstealer looked into his children's hearts and understood that the Lord Minions knew their pain had lasted only a very short time. He knew, too, that they were very much aware that he could have made their suffering much longer if he chose._

You may all rise,_ he told the six of them. Slowly, their minds still shaken by their brief torment, his slaves obeyed._

_Looking at his children, Dassadec knew that his purpose had been accomplished. The newborn Lord Minions now looked out at their world through eyes that held not only wonder, but also a deep, abject fear which they would never forget._

- from _The Great Betrayal,_ by Wysteerin Hallowayn


End file.
